May I Have This Dance?
by mindfunk
Summary: As the Yule Ball approaches, this Champion thing kinda sucks for Harry. Short genfic, written in an hour for the AWDT.


Title: May I Have This Dance?  
Author: mindfunk  
Rating: G  
Genre: genfic  
Pairings: none, unless you really squint and wish awfully hard  
Word Count: 1316  
Summary: As the Yule Ball approaches, this Champion thing kinda sucks for Harry.

Notes: Totally unbeta'd and written in about an hour. Written for the AWDT. Prompt was "I don't want to dance."

* * *

"I don't want to dance," said Harry, frowning petulantly. 

"Be that as it may, Mr. Potter, you will be leading the first dance at the Ball. As one of the Hogwarts Champions, it will be expected of you, and you will not embarrass this school by shirking your duties or by making a poor showing," snapped Professor McGonagall.

Straightening her robe and taking a deep breath, she steeled herself for another attempt.

"All right, Potter. One hand on my waist and one hand in my right hand. Do try to spare my feet this time, if you would."

Waving her wand at the ancient gramophone on her desk, it began to play a tired, old waltz.

Reluctantly, Harry stepped up and took his professor in a tentative hold.

"Tighter, Potter. You cannot dance properly if you aren't holding on to your partner!"

She used the hand she had on his shoulder to drag him closer than the two meters distance he was desperately trying to maintain. Surprised, he almost stumbled into her and narrowly missed clomping on her left foot.

"Look at me, Potter, not at your feet or at the wall," she reminded him for what felt like the hundredth time.

Harry tried to look at her face, but he just couldn't manage it. Turning scarlet, he finally settled for staring straight ahead at the brim of her hat as it bobbed up and down in front of his eyes.

This had to be worse than anything. He'd rather be in Snape's dungeons, dicing potions ingredients, or scrubbing trophies for Filch. Hell, he'd even be willing to go and do his homework without so much as copying a single answer from Hermione, if McGonagall would just let him go already. The only saving grace in this whole, embarrassing debacle was that no one else was around to witness his mortification.

Then there was a knock at the door.

"Enter!" barked McGonagall, adding to Harry, "Don't stop counting, Potter! One, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three…"

As his Head of House spun him around her office, he saw that his night was just about to get even better.

Fred and George Weasley stood in the doorway, identical grins of delight and glee on their faces.

"Blimey, Professor, Harry," said Fred.

"We didn't mean to interrupt," said George.

"We can just wait over here until you're finished with your… date," said Fred, as the two crossed over to the small divan wedged into the corner of the office. The two had the air of those who had been in this office many times before, which, of course, they had.

"Yes, don't let us stop you," said George, looking for all the world as if he were about to conjure some popcorn and settle in to enjoy the show.

Waving her wand at the gramophone once more, McGonagall stopped the music abruptly. Turning from Harry, who was quite relieved to have his professor focusing elsewhere, she marched over to the two miscreants and stood over them, crossing her arms and pursing her lips.

"Well, what have you done now?" she demanded.

The twins had the audacity to look affronted.

"Nothing, Professor!" they chorused, identical expressions of innocence on their faces.

"Nothing much," amended Fred, wilting a bit under McGonagall's hardening stare.

"Nothing they didn't deserve," added George, shrinking a bit as that glare was turned on him.

"Give me the note," she sighed, holding out her hand.

"How did you…?" Fred started to ask.

"There's always a note, Mr. Weasley. Do you really think that any member of this staff would trust either of you to give a full and complete, accurate accounting of your actions, particularly when a punishment will be involved?"

"It might not warrant a punishment this time," George protested feebly, handing over a bit of parchment he'd had stashed in his robes.

Tapping it with her wand to unroll the small scroll, McGonagall studied it for a few moments, her eyebrows getting higher and higher as she read.

"You transfigured them into Dungbombs? Both of them?" she said incredulously.

"They were going to curse us!" protested Fred.

"It was self-defense!" added George.

Glaring at the Weasleys a moment longer, she whirled around and glared at Harry, who had been doing his best to turn invisible by sheer force of will while his professor's attention was directed elsewhere.

"I must go to the hospital wing and help set a pair of Durmstrang students to rights," she said.

"That's ok, Professor," said Harry, edging towards the door. "I've learned loads, and I'm sure it will all be just great the night of the Ball."

"Stay where you are, Potter. You have not been dismissed," she replied.

Turning to the twins, she grew thoughtful for a moment.

"I know your mother taught you both how to dance properly. The two of you will continue with Potter's lesson while I am gone."

With that she turned and marched towards her office door.

A chorus of dissent followed in her wake.

"Oh, no, Professor, really, it's not necessary! I've already learned so much from you!"

Harry protested.

"But Professor…," began Fred.

"He's a bloke!" finished George.

Pausing in her doorway, McGonagall turned back and said, "Well- spotted, Mr. Weasley. However, as undoing the damage you and your brother have done is taking me away from the task of seeing that Potter's dancing skills do not embarrass this institution or our House, it now falls to you to take my place. I expect to see significant improvement by the time I return."

With that, she whirled around with a swing of robes that would have put Snape to shame and exited her office, shutting the door smartly behind her.

The three boys just stared at each other, gobsmacked.

"Think she means it?" Harry finally asked.

"Yeah, she means it," said Fred grimly, rising from the divan.

"McGonagall always means it, Harry," added George, also rising. "If she says it, you'd best believe it, whatever it is."

"I'm not looking to be punished even worse that we've already got coming, so let's get to it," said Fred.

His twin moved toward the gramophone and gave it a healthy crank before placing the needle back down on the record. Once again, the room was filled with a scratchy waltz.

Harry backed away from Fred's outstretched arms until his back hit the wall.

"I am not dancing with you!" he said, holding up his hands to ward off his friend.

"Oh, yes you are," insisted Fred grimly, grabbing Harry's outstretched hands and pulling him closer, catching the smaller boy as he tripped over his own feet.

"This is ridiculous! I don't even want to dance!" protested Harry, struggling in Fred's arms.

Ignoring his protests, the taller boy attempted to position his arms correctly and initiate the dance.

"Just do it, Harry. No use in wasting the opportunity. Fred here is a right twinkletoes," said George from his position seated on McGonagall's desk. "Mum always said he was the best dancer out of all of us, even Percy." He smirked at his twin over Harry's shoulder, and received a two-fingered salute in return.

"Twat," responded Fred, maneuvering Harry into a proper hold.

"Look, Harry," he said, turning serious for a moment and pausing in their spin around the makeshift dancefloor. "I know you don't want the attention, but people are going to be watching you whether you like it or not. You can either muck it up and look a right prat, or you can do your best to learn how to dance well."

Understanding the truth in Fred's words, Harry nodded.

They started to waltz again, and Harry immediately tripped over Fred's feet.

"Well, "George piped up from his safe distance, "If you can't learn to dance well, you can at least learn how to stay upright. That's better than nothing, right?"

When McGonagall returned 40 minutes later, she declared Harry's waltz passably improved.


End file.
